Pain
by Dublinscot
Summary: Daryl's thoughts as he sits in his cell in the Sanctuary.


Banging the back of his head against the wall behind him, Daryl closed his eyes and tried—unsuccessfully—to drown out the chirpy tune that invaded his exhausted mind every few minutes. Trying desperately to formulate a clear and coherent thought, he inhaled slowly, his breath catching and stuttering as he tried frantically not to cry. He'd done enough of that already, ever since Dwight had left that damned picture with him. Taped to the wall within sight. Visible proof of his guilt. Tangible evidence of his culpability in his friend's death.

Over the last hours, that Polaroid had become the focal point of all of his fear, sorrow and self-loathing. It brought home to him forcefully the fact that _he_ was responsible for what he had happened to his friend, to Glenn. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't unsee what was on that little piece of paper. The horrible, sickening sight of what was left of his friend was permanently imprinted into his mind. And he knew in his heart and his soul, with everything he had, that _he_ was the reason behind what was in that gut-wrenching picture. Why? Why couldn't he have restrained himself? Why did he have to punch Negan? For once in his miserable life why couldn't he have just kept quiet and not let his anger and rage get ahead of him? Was it worth it? Yes he was trying to protect a friend, but in trying to protect one he hurt the other—devastatingly so. The knowledge of what he had done, the weight he carried, would be with him for the rest of his days. He knew without a doubt that his friend was dead because of him. He might as well have wielded the bat himself. And that awareness made it hurt all the more.

 _His jumbled thoughts were interrupted by the sudden blasting of music—again. Would this torment never stop?_

 _We're on easy street, And it feels so sweet, Cause the world is but a treat, When you're on easy street_

 _And we're breaking out the good champagne, We're sitting pretty on the gravy train, And when we sing every sweet_ _refrain, Right_ _here on easy street…_

Doing his best to tune it out he banged the back of his head against the wall, the resulting pain a momentary respite for his weary mind. But only momentary. The monotonous tune played on and on…until it didn't. With a start his exhausted, numbed mind grasped the fact that the music had finally stopped. It was silent. But for how long? He knew he couldn't really relax, this was a temporary respite. And then, sure enough, sound once again. Music playing. But different. Dimly, as if from a long distance, he realized the music had changed. He could hear the slow, emotional tones of Roy Orbison begin.

'No!' He did not want to hear this! Not at all. Banging his head on the wall yet again he tried to ground himself, tried to give himself another focus, something else other than the intense pain he felt inside. The pain of loss and guilt that was clawing at his heart, his mind, and his very soul. It was consuming him from the inside out. Clamping his hands over his ears he tried desperately to block the sound, but to no avail. It seeped into his consciousness anyway, forcing him to listen to the moody, sentimental words.

 _I was all right for a while, I could smile for a while  
But I saw you last night, you held my hand so tight  
As you stopped to say "Hello"  
Aw you wished me well, you couldn't tell_

 _That I'd been crying over you, crying over you  
Then you said "so long". left me standing all alone  
Alone and crying, crying, crying crying  
It's hard to understand but the touch of your hand  
Can start me crying_

Inhaling sharply, Daryl tried desperately to _not_ listen, but it wasn't working. The melancholy strains of the song seeped past his hands and into his ears. He couldn't _not_ hear it.

 _I thought that I was over you but it's true, so true  
I love you even more than I did before but darling what can I do  
For you don't love me and I'll always be_

 _Crying over you, crying over you  
Yes, now you're gone and from this moment on  
I'll be crying, crying, crying, crying  
Yeah crying, crying, over you_

The sorrow in the words washed over him and he couldn't stop it anymore. Without quite realizing it he could feel the wetness trickling down his cheek. He didn't even bother wiping it away. What did it matter anyway? His breath catching, he fought—unsuccessfully—to push down the sob he could feel welling inside. It did no good. Before he could stop himself he realized his shoulders were shaking as the sobs began making their way to the surface. So consumed with guilt and sorrow was he, his energy and will sapped down to nothing, he just let it happen. This, after all, was no more than what he deserved.

His thoughts a maelstrom of darkness he was powerless to contain, the hunter cried—for Denise, for Abraham, for Glenn. For all they had lost and for this new life Negan was forcing on them. His usual will to fight sapped down to nothing, he felt nothing but hopelessness. The realization of it all was too much for him at this moment. Even as the sobs continued to wrack his exhausted frame, he felt a distinct uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, brought on no doubt by the stress of the previous days as well as the dog food 'sandwiches' he'd been consuming.

Feeling the nausea rising, he leaned forward and to the side just as his battered body began to expel the meager food he had consumed. Waves of pain mixed with continued tears until he could take no more. Helpless to stop the agonizing retching, he gave into it before finally slumping to the floor, what little energy he had dissipating. Heedless of the vomit lying next to him, mixed with the filth of his cell, he closed his eyes and tried to rid his mind of everything. This, after all, was to be his new existence and he might as well get used to it. He did deserve it, after all.


End file.
